


Out of Sync

by Conversity



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jim is getting old and its scaring Spock, M/M, Matchmaking, Mind Meld, Old Age, Starfleet Academy, old married spirk, oms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-05-11 23:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5645962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Conversity/pseuds/Conversity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock and Jim have retired together, both leading teaching careers at the Academy, until one day Spock feels his bond with Jim waver, forcing him to come to terms with the fact that Jim is going to die soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why Didn't I Notice Sooner?

The days were running out.

Spock didn't have a chance to shield the truth from himself, not as he lovingly brushed the bare tips of his fingers across Jim's knuckles while they were walking the length of the beach, and felt their bond waver, its intensity shuddering as if someone had plucked the inflexible string between them. Jim gave that worn smile of his, the one that lit his hazel eyes and carved warm lines around his mouth, seeming not to notice the flicker between them. But Spock had felt the cold stirrings, like ripples in the placid calm of a lake.

The ones of death.

After that first prickle, he sought meditation, alone, in order to find if maybe he had let his loose emotions sway the reality with worry. Of course he’d seen old age grasping at Jim, his hands a little more clumsy as arthritis set in, glasses always sitting wizened on his nose as he held the paper closer to read. The threads of grey in his honeyed curls had made Spock feel both parts endeared and saddened, knowing that to Jim, Spock still looked to be in his prime. Age hadn’t touched his dark hair, the skin around his calculating eyes and dexterous hands still smooth. Since he had finally matured after his first Pon Farr, some twelve years after Jim had cleared puberty, Spock had taken on the features of his ancestors: a strong jaw, sharp nose, and larger ears. He had a beautiful dusting of black hair that curled lightly over his chest and led from his navel to the seam of his adult body, all things Jim found even more arousing during the heat. But it seemed the two were always at separate times of their lives together, out of sync and yet twined close together. 

Spock filled his lungs with the hot scent of incense and tried to find his center as he waved the memories into smoke and blew them away. The bond felt like it was shivering, almost as if it was a trip wire that alerted a bomb, a spider’s silk that trembled when prey was caught-

Spock shook the poetry from his mind and tried to focus again. 

"Spock?" A soft knock split the anchor in his mediation and he found himself slightly tilting his head toward the intrusion. "Are you ok?" 

With a deep, practiced sigh, eyes slowly opening as he slipped back into this plane of existence, Spock found himself licking his dry lips in a human display of nervousness. Jim's voice had subtle hints of worry, something that distressed Spock with their fragility, but his eyes were warm as always. 

“I am adequate,” Spock said, because it wasn’t a lie, and tightened his fingers before releasing the tension in his knuckles. 

Jim caught the movement but didn’t say anything. Instead, he neared his husband and steadied a hand on their wood dresser so he could drop down beside him. Spock could hear the bones of his ankles creak with his unsettled weight and his hands innately grabbed to help Jim, who of course waved him off. 

“I’m not disabled,” He teased, finally settling into the smooth folds of Spock’s meditation robe. Jim’s breath was steamy in the crook of his neck, and the room filled with the human laugh when Jim felt Spock’s skin goose bump with the sensation. “You’re so cold.” Jim’s hands covered his, squeezing, and Spock tried to still the queasiness rising in his throat as their bond shivered, discordant. 

“I am fine.” Spock quietened his discomfort by taking relief from the heat of his mate, the strength in his fingers, the surety of his heartbeats, the mirth glowing from the human bond. These were things that seemed endless, meticulously choreographed, and given freely over the decades. Spock knew that without Jim, his life would have been a dim, docile one. And no doubt the sort which he would return to with Jim’s absence. 

The thought physically sickened him. 

“Spock-?” Jim had opened his sleepy eyes, sensing the clench of nausea from his husband and had just leaned back to give him some room when Spock rose, swift and unsteady, making it to the bathroom in three paces. The wet sounds of hacking and gagging turned Jim’s stomach, but he followed faithfully, pulling himself up with some effort before leaning at the door way. Vulcan semicircular systems were delicate, and easily unsettled with medicines and outside stimuli. But Jim never saw Spock react like this to his presence. 

Jim watched as Spock spit one last time before he washed his mouth at the sink. He gathered water in palms to pass over his jade flushed cheeks, wetting his bangs, and let his head hang loosely between his tight, hunched shoulders. Jim turned off the gushing facet after listening to his stream for a few more minutes, and cupped Spock’s shoulder, steering him toward their bed. 

They didn’t share words, not of comfort or explanation, simply let the other do what they needed to smooth their feathers. Spock didn’t shirk from his bondmate’s gentle mothering, let him pull the quilts over him, brush at his errant bangs, tuck him in like a child. In turn, Jim didn’t show his hurt as Spock didn’t chide him lovingly at the treatment, didn’t lean into his touches, didn’t reach for him when Jim left the room.


	2. It's Going to Scar

Breakfast is a quiet affair the next morning, the question of each other’s daily schedules mentioned between bites of toast and fruit, the summer sunrise unable to thaw the stiff ice that had slipped in the cracks last night. 

Jim drinks his coffee without raising his eyes from the newspaper, a luxury Spock procured for him with a few strings pulled at the Academy, pausing every few minutes to turn the page and press his glasses higher on his nose. Spock in turn, stands at the bar with his hands in the sink, peeling apples with a blade. He doesn’t have the appetite to eat, but there’s something soothing in the methodical ease of chipping at the waxy skin, the task giving him a reason to turn his back on his mate, eyes focused on anything but Jim’s drawn scowl, his sallow cheeks, and the dour mood hunching his tired shoulders. 

“I will not be home for dinner,” Spock says, his voice thick as if he hadn’t meant to speak. Jim doesn’t react to the news, answers instead with the rustle of paper and long draw of coffee, and his indifference wounds Spock like a blow to the solar plexus. “I must oversee a lab for the undergraduates, their exit exams are fast approaching.” 

The tree outside loses a blanket of yellow pollen in a wind gust, and Spock watches it, wishing illogically that the trees would cease to do so, because it upsets Jim’s allergies, and at the same time that he too could slough off a part of himself and be free of the self-imposed weight. 

Lost in the glacial silence of his mate and the short circuit of his harried thoughts, his thumb slips on the knife and nicks the pad of his ring finger, a rivulet of green blood dotting the sink instantly. He hides the pain with a deep, settling breath and taps the facet to wash the wound. 

“I’ll just walk to work then,” Jim finally says and Spock is almost so lost in his flurried thoughts that he wonders where the answer came from, then worries about Jim making the walk down the five blocks to the Academy. 

“There is no need, I will call you a cab,”

“Oh please,” Jim makes a distressed noise, finally folding the paper down to look at Spock for the first time that morning, “it’s just a little ways down, I don’t need a driver. Why spend the money when I can just walk?” 

“Money is of no consequence,” Spock begins to say, but he’s still trying to quell the bleeding, the knife clattering in the sink, and that’s when Jim hoists himself out of his seat, at his side the next moment. “Captain, I don’t need-“ 

Jim’s hands are warm as they grab at the Vulcan’s wrist, stilling his shaking as he runs a clean cloth over the dribbling green, eyes flitting to the clean slice, the apple shavings, and settling on the glisten of Spock’s black zirconium wedding band. He gently rinsed the lined palm and thumbed at the ring, turning it around Spock’s finger to get at the blood pooled beneath, and sighed as if he had been holding his breath. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Spock turned to look at Jim straight on for the first time since last night and found he was at a loss for words. Why was Jim apologizing when he had clearly done nothing untoward to deserve such disdain from his own bond mate? 

The tap shut off automatically when Jim pulled Spock’s hand away from the spray and grabbed a clean dish towel from the drawer to wrap the cut. His eyes are sad and hard like amber as they stare at Spock’s hands, and for a moment, Spock is taken back to their third year on the Enterprise as a command team. He doesn’t remember the name of the planet, nor the beast that had mauled him the second the away team had been beamed to the surface, but he does remember waking up in Med Bay to the stiff, infuriated huffing of Doctor McCoy and Jim at his bed side, hands tangled in his own, eyes unwavering from the wound on his chest. It was the kind of mutilation that would have killed Spock had he not been Vulcan, his heart in his side, his important organs hidden in different places than the predator had anticipated, and he thanks his Father’s genes for the first time in a long time. 

But Jim’s eyes are still on the thick, bloodied bandages, no doubt worrying over the tattered, raw sin beneath. 

“It will most likely scar, even though I trust the doctor has tried all his potions and remedies.” Spock had said, almost embarrassed that Jim would find the regenerated skin too grotesque to stomach. 

Jim lifted his eyes slowly, as if woken from a daze, and Spock found his cheeks flushed and wet. 

“Spock, I don’t give a damn if it scars. You’re alive, my god, you’re still all in one piece.” He’d squeezed Spock’s hands and there was no denying the thrum of relief that frothed when Jim’s mind found Spock’s side of the bond waking drowsily from the anesthetic. 

Now, as they stand in their shared kitchen, with Jim worrying over the tiny graze as if Spock might die from it, the Vulcan is forced to reevaluate everything. 

“I’m sorry,” Jim states again, “I don’t know what’s wrong but can you please talk to me?” 

There’s something fragile in his tone and Spock hates that he’s put it there, but before he could reply to the plea, Jim’s communicator chirps twice at the table. 

Spock pulls away from his mate and Jim turns to answer it, the moment broken before Spock could spiral into his terrible secret. No human wishes to face their inevitable demise, much less learn of it from their bond mate’s enhanced, sixth sense. But this isn’t something Spock can take to his own grave and if he desires to prolong the unescapable truth, then he must have more time to think.

Jim’s conversation lasts less than five minutes, just Scotty asking if they were still going to co-lecture the new recruits on the importance of interdepartmental relationships, but when Jim says his good byes, he finds Spock’s computer bag gone, their shared air car missing in the drive way, and a fleet taxi waiting patiently outside.


	3. Let The Youth Teach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim gains some insight from his students which in turn helps him figure out what is upsetting his husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for how long this took. For some reason, I found myself writing Saavik and David into this story to help move the plot long nicely. I took some liberties with their characters so tread vaguely with how I've written them. 
> 
> Since this is my second complete multi-chapter story, I would love to her some feedback. I feel like my writing style has changed a lot and I wonder if you guy even like this. :)

“Communication in a command team is paramount. Without that ease of understanding,” Jim finished scribing the words on the chalk board before he faced the crammed lecture hall, “there is no chance of success.” 

Teaching was second nature and, while it was not the heady rush of captaining a starship and traversing the galaxy, there was a certain thrill in the youth taking to heart all he said. His office was endlessly thronged with papers to be graded, artifacts from his travels, and starry eyed pupils who genuinely yearned for his stories of the old days. 

An Andorian-Vulcan student, her antenna focused forward, slanted eyebrows quirked in opposition, raised her hand just before the bell rang, dismissing the class. 

“Miss Ishyth,” he gestured to his desk and she gathered her notebooks in her arms, waiting for the sea of students to clear to their next classes before she followed. “What was your question today?” 

Ishyth Th’rhiavan was one of his best students and was close to having her own Starship if she kept playing her cards right, but there was never a lecture she didn’t find a question for and Kirk had grown quiet fond of their daily banter. 

“You once stated that trust was the zenith of an efficacious command team.”

Kirk nodded, unfolding his glasses from his shirt pocket, “Yes. You can’t really have one without the other.” 

“False. You can communicate with beings that are dishonest and untrustworthy. You’ve spoken of many missions where this was the norm.” 

“Ishyth, what I’m saying is that when you have a first officer, you need trust, honesty, and open communication in order to work together.” 

“I find that you speak with a biased advantage. Your first officer was part Vulcan. The bond which you share supersedes any communicational need because your minds are merged.” 

Jim chuckles at that, his eyes crinkling at the edges in a way that make him look younger in Ishyth’s mind. “We’ve been bonded for almost thirty years and we still have trouble getting on the same page,” he mentions as his hands pack away the laptop and student essays into his satchel. 

Ishyth’s eyebrows relax, her antenna twisting around as she pieces together his words and their doubled implications. Humans were quite complex and it’s not for the first time that she wonders how Ambassador Spock put up with it for all those years. Humans were exhausting. 

“Admiral, I thank you for your insight. But if I do not depart, I will be tardy for my Xenolinguistics class.” 

“Well, I don’t want you late to Commander Uhura’s class. Off with you, Cadet.” Jim shoos her to the door with a smile that dims as she leaves, waning completely when he hears the pneumatics of the door pressurize. 

Jim hadn’t meant to start preaching the necessities of honesty between the Captain and First Officer but after the last few days he couldn’t hold back the words. These kids needed to understand that out in the cold depths of space, it’s a difficult, cruel job to have to carry alone. And even here on Earth, the void still lingers over you. 

The door opened with the sound of compressing air and Jim groaned. That had been his last class and he was looking forward to a small glass of wine, putting his aching feet up, and hopefully curling against Spock after dinner if the Vulcan permitted. 

“Admiral,” wait, he knew that voice, “I was hoping to catch you before you left. I have a question regarding human behavior.” 

Saavik stood at attention, feet apart, shoulders back, but her gaze was nervous as she inspected her boots, the chalk board, and then finally looked him in the eyes. 

“David hasn’t been bullying you too much has he?” Jim teased and couldn’t stifle a chuckle as she flushed verdantly. 

“He continues to message me even after my constant reminders that I am not interested in a relationship, long term or otherwise. Furthermore, he has recently begun sending me boxes of chocolates and letters written in deplorable standard Vulcan script.” As if Kirk wouldn’t believe her, Saavik pulled the items from her backpack and laid them on his desk like incriminating evidence. 

“This…” Jim smiled at the sloppy calligraphy, David’s name looked just as foreign as Jim’s had in the alien language signed at the bottom. “Saavik, he likes you. And human men, especially Kirk men, have a hard time being told no. These are his way of trying to win you over.” 

“With Vulcan intoxicants and terrible notes?” 

“No, with sweets and poetry. It’s an archaic human practice but I think David is desperate for your attention.” Saavik watches as Jim reads one of the poems and smiles, no doubt lost in his own memories of courting a Vulcan once upon a time. 

“If he is so desperate, then why does he not think to approach me as a Vulcan?”

“Because he is not Vulcan.”

“But I am.”

Between them, Jim feels like her words have eclipsed his issues, throwing them into the dark where in his blindness, he can hear the answer clearly. 

“I need to go,” he says as if struck by lightning, shouldering his bag before offering back David’s thoughtless, human gifts. 

“But Admiral, what about-?” But Jim was already gone, leaving her more confused than before. And not for the first time, she curses humans and their terrible, chaotic minds. 

\----------------------------------------------------

The science department was so diverse that the classrooms lay sprawled over the entire campus, with the laboratories at the heart of the academy, their newfound data and research the forerunner in most technologies across Federation space. 

Spock oversaw almost sixty percent of the student body and there was little doubt that they would name the building in his honor when he did pass. It was as Jim walked through the halls that he witnessed just how influential his husband was to these students as the young ones milled about, their conversation strictly on their Vulcan professor and his seemingly impossible, upcoming final examinations. 

While Jim waited on the elevator their attention was fixated on him, speculating why a command officer was here in the science department. No doubt, if he was a cadet, there’d be whispers as he passed, just like old times. Others recognized him as Jim Kirk, a name they’d have to memorize for their Federation history test, and when he’d entered the elevator, he even got a girl eyeing him in a way he hadn’t felt since before his wedding.

As they climbed the tower, cadets entering and exiting the elevator to their classes, Jim caught pieces of conversation, enough to get a good picture of how Spock’s day had gone. 

Apparently there had been an explosion in the afternoon exam and while no one was seriously injured, Dr. McCoy’s med students had been called to practice their emergency first aid. Jim would no doubt hear about it over their next shared whiskey. The later testing would have to be postponed until the labs were fixed which meant Spock would be in his office, filing paperwork on the accident. 

The doors opened and Jim exited alone, finding the hallway deserted apart from an automated cleaning bot that was watering the plants. 

“Professor, I don’t know what to do.”

Jim stopped short of the doorway to Spock’s office, the sound of David’s voice freezing him. 

“David, here I am not your professor. You may address me more familiarly. Moreover, I wonder why you do not ask your father. This would be an area in which he is more versed.” 

There are sounds of David sighing heavily, the creak of the leather chair as he leans forward. Jim can picture his son pulling at his blond curls, Spock maybe resting a steady hand on his shoulder. 

“Dad...” in the pause, Jim feels shame that his son does not feel comfortable to approach him and yet elation that David seeks Spock as the other parent. The emotion chokes him and its offhand knowledge that he’s feeling Spock’s revelation on the matter as well. “I don’t think dad always does the right thing when it comes to this kind of thing.”

‘This kind of thing,’ no doubt being love. Not when Jim hadn’t stayed with Carol, not when he’d laid his entire career on saving his Vulcan first officer, not when he’d finally met David and struggled to be the father the boy wanted. 

“I don’t think you are giving Jim the credit he is due. Relationships are difficult, David, and Saavik is not like many cadets. Chocolates and poems, though a gallant effort, will not work.”

“Then what will? How’d dad get you?” 

There was a delicate, deep laugh, barely a purr, and Jim’s mind is alight with Spock’s mirth. 

“Your father did not ‘get’ me. We cultivated a profound companionship over many years, one that later was so inescapable that not even my retreat to Gol could break the bond. It is not about ‘winning’ or ‘having’ or ‘taking’, David. Not how humans think of it. It just happens, almost like a slow chemical reaction.” 

“Thanks,” David grouses, sounding no more at peace with the idea than when he first came in, and Jim hears him stand, collecting papers. 

“Though…I will say, Jim caught my attention after he demonstrated how alike our minds were. A game of chess might do you and Saavik ‘some good’, as Doctor McCoy might say.” 

Jim hurried to hide behind a blossoming fern, its large orange striped petals unfolded enough to drape past his legs so as to cover him when David left, a little bounce to his step as he headed straight to the stairs without a second look back. 

“You are no quieter now than you were as a young Captain,” Spock said evenly once the door had clicked behind David, pulling back the plant’s curtain of leaves to show his bondmate.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I swear.” A curl of fear at how he’d listened in the entire time but Spock waved it away. “Would you believe Saavik came to me today about the exact same thing?”

Spock ticks up an eyebrow, such a familiar gesture, and beckons Jim into his office, the door locked as an afterthought. “Young love is often fraught with misunderstandings. I have faith they will endure.”

“Old love is the same.” 

Spock turns at the tone of his husband’s weary voice. 

“Saavik couldn’t understand why David was courting her like a human since she is clearly Vulcan. I think whatever has been going on between us, all this miscommunication, is the same dilemma. I’ve been demanding you to talk about this as a human would and I should know better.” Jim takes a breath to steady his shaking hands and closes the distance between them in three even paces. He brushes his knuckles against Spock’s, the spark of their connection just as jolting as when they’ first kissed that way, and then squeezes their fingers together. 

“Jim, please leave this alone,” Spock says into his greying curls, the depth of his voice so low that it cracks when Jim brings the alien fingers up to his own cheek beneath his glasses, asking in his own, bold way. 

“When we bonded you swore to be faithful, honest, constant, and patient. And when I asked how I knew you’d uphold that, you told me that Vulcans could not lie.” His cheek is warm and smooth and when Spock flexes his fingers over the tingling psi-points, he feels tears. “Tell me what’s wrong.” 

There’s a sudden shift in their bond as their minds brush and the friction hurts, a sensation Jim has never felt in their melds, and Spock jerks away before Jim can delve any deeper. 

“You are dying.” Jim doesn’t think he’s heard Spock correctly because his husband is speaking through a thick, sobbing voice. “I can feel it in your mind, your soul, the very core of your bones and…” His eyebrows are drawn down in sharp pain, his face no longer as young as Jim remembers as the lines of his grief deepen. “I am afraid.”

The bond between them is desperately at war with itself, needing to grab ahold of its mate and yet petrified at the anguish in their joining, the ebb and swell like flame twisting in parched underbrush. 

“Spock,” Jim reached for him and Spock looks away, mortified that this is happening, that he hasn’t been able to protect Jim from the inevitable. “Hey, come on, it’s ok.” 

“No.”

“Yes it is. It might not be fair but look at me. Spock,” Jim has him pushed up against the desk, unable to retreat, his hands coming up to stroke at the green flush of his crestfallen face. “Did you think I was going to live forever?” He asks incredulously and Spock shakes his head. 

“Illogical, all things must come to an end but-”

“Then it’s illogical to weep over it today. I’m not gone yet. I have too much to do to go anywhere right now.” There’s a wave of fierce protection that knocks Jim in the chest as he embraced his Vulcan, soaking in the turmoil and bedlam of having kept this away from his mate. 

“We’ll be alright,” Jim promises and punctuates his words with a kiss to Spock’s temple, his cheek, his lips. “Let’s get you home.” But when he moved to draw away, the Vulcan pulled him closer, easing back as Jim pressed him flat on the desk. When he felt his husband’s hands thread through his hair, pulling their lips together, Jim remembers the  
desperation of their joining after Spock returned from Gol. “What do you need to know I’m not going anywhere?” 

And though Jim knows they’re much too old to rut against each other here in Spock’s office, he can’t deny the idea impassions him, flaring like poison in his veins as Spock guides his roving lips to his throat. 

They move against each other as if to merge themselves, as if Jim could feed on Spock’s Vulcan mortality and live a bit longer. Jim as no problem with kissing Spock until he’s settled, the meld between them deepening as Jim presses their foreheads together, falling effortlessly into their shared mindscape. 

The place they are twined is like a river emptying into an ocean, their thoughts and ideas fluidly stirring into one conscious, unstoppable force of nature. Spock reaches to touch the thin piece of ground that separates them, their bodies, carved from the earth, and he entertains the notion that it is to the earth they will return. 

Suddenly, Jim grabs at the night sky painted above them and wraps the stars around the rushing water, the imagery intoxicating as Spock shudders with his power to take control of the meld. The pictures of planets scattered through the universe flit by as if on film as Jim recalls each time he thought he’d die out in the lonely maw of space. Instead, he basks in the contentment which swells in his mate at the reality that he’ll pass away here on Earth. Of all the regrets, Spock is not one. 

The epiphany is a cold breath over the flame of their rekindling and Spock comes out of the meld like a drowning man from beneath the waves. Jim is panting against him too, eyes wide as he swallows down the residual mental overlay. 

“I never knew…” Spock confesses and Jim can’t hold in his bubbling laughter, hiding his ruddy cheeks in Spock’s uniform. 

“My stupid Vulcan. How could you not? I haven’t really been subtle with how much I love you.”

“Human life is short, fleeting. And yet you chose to spend it with me. After all this time, I held onto the idea you would leave, yet the years have passed us by and you have remained. I feel…” the words make him pause and his tone sobers the childlike humor in Kirk, “I feel as if I have wasted your life.” 

In the wake of Spock’s truth, Jim is caught between rolling his eyes and sighing. How can someone so intelligent, someone who has become such an integral part of him have no idea about his own feelings?

“How’d we get so out of sync?” He asks as a breath against Spock’s lips and they spend time slowly kissing, languid, lazy, familiar. 

Its only when Spock dips his head, Jim’s last kiss catching his forehead, that they pull apart and even then they clasp hands. 

“Let’s go home.” 

And it’s as they walk hand in hand, Jim leading them like old times, that Spock feels their bond tremble again and he takes note of the grey in his husband’s curls, the wrinkles of his hand. A swell of craving lights as he thinks of how Jim trusts him with his vulnerability now and it’s the strength in that fact which allows him to soothe their shivering bond. 

‘All is well.’ Jim casts a look back at him and beams, eyes crinkling behind his glasses. ‘For in the chaos of a supernova death, there is still structure. Nothing is random.’ Spock thinks as they enjoy the walk through the academy as if they are young cadets, too naïve and love struck to care about anything other than themselves. Students stare and whisper behind their books, some raising their brows in awe at their brash display, others not giving a second glance. 

It’s not until later that night, as Jim lies on his side, dozing, that Spock blows the steam from his tea and asks, “How do you feel?”

There’s a smile mirrored on the soft Vulcan features and Jim suckles at the fingers which slide past his meld points, suffusing him with adoration.

“Young.” Jim moans as he stretches his muscles, rolling his hips so his spent cock slides against Spock’s hip. “I feel young.”


End file.
